Rod. Pembrooke, you are too plaine in your discourse.

Bur.  I tell thee, Rodoricke, Pembrooke soldier-like Hath truely opened what ten thousand lives Will hardly doe if warre be made the Judge.

Rod.  If war be Judge?  Why, shallow-witted Burbon,
Who shall decide this difference but war? 
Hath not the Judge put on his Scarlet Robe? 
Is not the field prepar’d? our men in armour? 
The trumpets ready for the sound of death,
And nothing hinders us but our owne words? 
Leave idle parley, my dread soveraigne Lord,
And soone resolve the Duke in fire and smoke
That he maintaines a title false and forg’d,
And that Navar is a usurping Lord.

Na.  On that Ile hazzard all these valiant lives.  Sound Drums and Trumpets! make King Lewes know He makes his best friend prove his greatest foe.

Lew.  Why pause our drums? our trumpets beat as loud!  Till the bright ayre be made a purple cloud.

Phil.  Pause, gracious father.

Ferd.  Noble father, pause.  Let Ferdinand thy sonne so far prevayle That peace, not war, may end this difference.

Bel.  For Bellamiraes sake abstayne from war.

Phil. Philip thy sonne humbly desires a peace:  Let not my father sheathe his warlike sword Within the bowels of his Countrymen.

Kath.  Thy daughter Katharina prayes the like.

Nav.  From whence proceeds this sudden sound of peace?  Comes it from me? what? from my Ferdinand, From Bellamira my sweet second selfe?

Lew.  Or rather comes it, Lewes, from thy soule, Thy Philip the true image of thy selfe, Thy Katharina thy heart’s chiefest joy?

Rod.  Princes, you aske you know not what your selves.

Pem. Rodorick, they aske a sweet and pleasing boone.

Rod.  Why, they aske peace and we are set for war.

Fer.  Tis a bad peace exceeds not a just war.

Phil.  We will not rise from this submissive ground Till we obtayne, if not a peace, a truce.

Fer.  Nor shall our feet be guilty of new steps Till I obtayne a truce from murdering war.

Lew.  Shew me some reason (sonne) for this demand.

Nav.  Shew me some reason (children) for this prayer.

Fer.  I love the daughter of thine enemy:  Fayre Katherina hath inthrald my heart.

Phil.  I love the daughter of thine enemy:  Fayre Bellamira hath inthrald my heart.

Pem.  Is love the cause? then wherefore wage we war? 
What matter ist who weares both Diadems,
When the succession lives in eythers heyre? 
If Ferdinand be crown’d king of Navar,
Fayre Katherina shalbe crownd his Queene: 
If Philip weare the Diadem of France,
Fayre Bellamira, made his lovely Queene,
Swayes half the Scepter.  See what heaven can doe,—­
Provide for peace even in the jawes of war!